


Tanabata

by itsyourgirlspooky



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel), Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sorry Not Sorry, Symbolism, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsyourgirlspooky/pseuds/itsyourgirlspooky
Summary: Sayori makes a wish on the day of tanabata.





	Tanabata

**Author's Note:**

> this lowkey sucks but i hope you guys still like it! i really should've spent more time on this but i was writing with a deadline in mind so oof, this is unfortunately the best i can do rn. just wait till the mood strikes me and i finally finish up a draft i'm really proud of so far for an actually above average piece lol-
> 
> also, ao3 is being annoying so now i can't even write my own custom tags like i've seen on others' works like wth. :(

...

Sayori doesn't want to get out of bed. Splayed across said object, hair and sheets both rumpled, the nine-year-old is perfectly content with simply watching the morning sunlight filter in through glass panes. For once, the little one finds herself favouring a lazy day rather than one of constant excitement and buzz that she usually inclines towards. Maybe it's the fact that she's still slightly drowsy from a good dream, or the jetlag is hitting her real hard, but she hopes that her mother won't come by to wake her up for church school. She faintly remembers the distant memory of her discussing it with her father during the flight, but she dozed off before she could hear their final decision. Alas, her question is answered by the soft creaking of the door being opened.

"Sayori? Goodness, you're already awake!"

Her mother takes up most of Sayori's vision now, comfortably dressed in a simple, pink dress. The usual twinkle in her eyes is there, but as of right then and there, a tad bit of shock is mixed in there, too. And then the surprise is wiped away by concern, the woman's brow furrowing as she gently sits by the girl.

"You're not sick, are you?" she asks, placing a tender hand on her forehead. The warmth from her mother's palm seeps into whatever inch of skin it's touching, and if possible, Sayori relaxes just a bit more. 

"M' okay, mom," Sayori murmurs, squeezing her sapphire-blue eyes shut. Her mother's own pair of such eyes stills hold worry in them, though, so she hurriedly adds,"Just woke up."

Her mother gives her a slight nod, but she doesn't seem to be completely convinced with how she bites down on her lip. Nonetheless, she lets the subject rest anyway, her smooth fingers now running through her mess of bed hair almost as if she's trying to tidy it.

"Can you get ready, then, Sayori? I've made omelettes for breakfast, and then mom and dad will take you to church school."

Sayori lets out a whine of protest, quickly covering her small frame in a blanket as if to declare that no, she is not getting out of bed anytime soon. Her mother only sighs, retracting her hand from the girl's coral pink tresses.

"I know you're tired from the move, but you need to learn, Sayori. You were already behind on your grades last year, so please, at least try and a be good girl, okay?" 

Sayori reluctantly peeks her head from under the covers at her mother words. "You want me to be a good girl?"

"Yes, Sayori, I want you to be a good girl. Will you do that for mom? And dad, too?" 

Sayori, for a moment, stares at her mother, contemplating on whether or not she should put up a fight and bury herself again. But in the end, she pushes the blanket off her tiny body, yawning a, well, mighty yawn and stretching her limbs. A small smile makes it way to her mother's lips.

"That's the spirit, Sayori. I'll leave you now, okay? I'll be waiting downstairs with dad."

And then she was gone, door gently closed behind her. Sayori can make out the light pitter-patters of her mother's shoes on wooden stairs just before she sits upright, rubbing her still sleep-induced eyes in hopes that they'd magically freshen herself up. They didn't exactly help that much, though, as she still stumbles out of bed and trips on nothing to land facefirst on the floor. 

Yeah, this is going to be a long day.

...

Sayori's never been to church school. Sure, she went to church back in Japan for the usual Sunday morning session like any other would, albeit somewhat begrudgingly due to her knack of sleeping in just about everyday, but she never actually tried to learn anything related to such matters unless it was straight from her parents. But now, she's standing in front of the towering, brick-red building, hiding behind her father's far larger and taller figure and clutching onto his black office pants. 

"Nervous?" he questions, and Sayori gives him a tentative nod. He only chuckles at the young girl's lack of response before kneeling down to meet her gaze. "It's going to be fine, alright? It's just church school. I know mom is making it seem so important, but all you're going to do in there is learn some morals and new prayers. You won't even be graded for it. Mom and dad have already talked to your teacher and he's a very kind man. He even says all the other kids are friendly and nobody's mean to each other. You're going to be okay, Sayori."

Skepticism graces the younger's features, her face scrunched up into a clear pout, but she doesn't say anything as hand in hand, father and daughter walk into Seoul's catholic church. 

...

'Church school actually isn't so bad,' Sayori thinks. Much of what her father had assured to her had turned out to be true, with a bright and jubilant teacher teaching them all about the proper ways a good Catholic would act like and the right mannerisms to opt to during prayers, and sweet, smiley children as her fellow peers. So yeah, she could deal with this for as long as her parents deemed fit for her, because the only real downside to the whole ordeal is that now, she has to get up earlier than normal on both Saturdays and Sundays.

The noon sun is still shining down on every rooftop and street it can reach, small crowds of miscellaneous people milling about the metropolitan. There's still the telltale noise of cars zooming past and of the liveliness of shops and restaurants well through the half of their opening hours, but Sayori hears none of that. No, the garden at the back of the church where she currently resides in is secluded from all this commotion. It's like a bubble, really, shielding the little bundle of sunshine and innocence from the terrors of reality. 

Sayori likes it there. A feeling of serenity is always present whenever she glides by lush greenery and colorful assortments of plants alike, feet pressing on bright green patches of grass and warm, earthy soil. Bushes made up of large leaves have delicious berries growing on their branches, some Sayori has picked and devoured quite messily to the point that there's now fruit juice dripping down her chin and fingers. She doesn't mind at all, however, for the simple wonders of the small space captivates her far too much for her to worry about such trivial matters in comparison. 

Yet, the thing that Sayori finds the most ethereal is not the colorful flowers scattered about the ground nor the beautifully adorned pots some of those flowers are placed in, but instead the boy observing those delicate blossoms. She's seen him in the class, but he was as quiet as a mouse and shied away from even looking at her in the eye. Sayori knows that it's commonly women who get the honor to be called 'pretty', but she can't help but associate the word with the stranger. He's pretty in every way imaginable, with a scruff of unkempt vermilion hair and shining golden irises glistening that naiive hope Sayori herself often harbors. He's a small person, and he's hugging his knees while watching over those flowers, making him seem like a fragile object that should be handled carefully lest it would break. She wouldn't say she was too enamoured with him, but he's managed to capture her full interest by just quietly observing a bunch of flowers, so Sayori thinks that it'd be fitting for her to approach him.

"Hey!" she yells, waving both of her tiny hands wildly in an attempt to get his attention. "Hey, can I look at the flowers with you?" 

The boy doesn't seem to offer her much of a reaction. There's no words being shouted back in her direction, and if anything, he's still in that same position he's been in over the last couple of minutes. Sayori once again pouts, bottom lip jutting out in a way her parents would've called 'adorable'. Why isn't he answering her? Isn't it considered rude to not reply to what one is saying?

Annoyed, Sayori walks over to him, determined to coax the boy into some sort of small talk. Up close, he looks even more frail than from afar, wide eyes taking in the sight of mauve hibiscuses, dazzlingly colored tulips, white lilies and so many more flowers Sayori could only assume must be native to South Korea. The way his mouth is slightly agape as he appreciates the splendor before him, and the desperation to hungrily drink in the sight that's hidden behind all that childlike wonder in his eyes as if he won't ever see them again just ends up intriguing the girl even more. She wants to get to know this boy better, maybe even become his friend if he's willing enough. 

"Hi," she nervously says, doing her best to not fidget in place so that she wouldn't scare him away. She may have shouted at first, but realizing how he might be a sensitive kid with the way he's slowly drawing his hand out as if he's scared of merely touching a harmless flower, she figures that her previous shout had simply not been registered by the boy and that if he did, it would've frightened him. 

Even though she's said those words in such a sweet-tempered tone, the boy noticeably flinches at the sound of her voice. A small whimper escapes his mouth before, slowly but surely as his body begins to tremble a bit, he's turning to face Sayori. When he finally does, he appears to be taken aback by her appearance, suddenly becoming jittery with the way he's ever so slightly twitching and how he's again avoiding her own deep blue eyes. 

"H-hi," he stutters out, pale hands tugging his long shirt sleeves further down his arm. His physique is even thinner than his already thin lips, and he looks teenier than Sayori is although he's probably older than she is with how, when Sayori doesn't bother for an invite before plopping down next to him, he's just a few inches taller than she is. 

"I'm Sayori, what's your name?" 

"S-Saeran. Saeran Choi."

"Saeran, that's such a nice name! It's so good to get to talk to you. I was hoping we could've done it before in class, but you didn't want to so I thought now would be fine. Hey, what are those flowers called?" 

Saeran's only sign of a response to the girl's babbling is a simple blink, like he didn't quite get whatever Sayori was droning on about. He's quietly staring at her as if she were a very difficult math problem he had trouble solving so he's left to blankly gawking at the animated young one besides him.

"The flowers? What are they called?" Sayori repeats once she realizes she's been talking too quickly, pointing a finger at a small plot flourishing with bright yellow blossoms. Saeran seems to perk up at the curiosity she's exhibiting.

"Chrysanthemums," he gingerly answers, a spark of passion briefly popping up in those fair eyes but disappearing as soon it was revealed. 

"That's hard to say. Che-rye-san-the-mums, right?" 

Saeran gives her a slight shake of his head. "Cry-san-the-mums."

"O-oh! 'Cry-san-the-mums'. I get it now. Thank you, Saeran!" A huge, dopey grin forms on Sayori's face, and Saeran again looks bewildered by the girl's actions. 

"T-thank you?"

"Yeah, you helped me and as my mom says, I'm thankful for it. So that's my way of showing I'm glad you did that, by saying 'thank you'."

"But I didn't really do anything but tell you the name of those flowers...."

"You still helped me, though! And sometimes, other people don't wanna help with something as easy as telling the name of a flower. So thanks, Saeran!"

When Saeran can only dumbfoundedly goggle at her, Sayori helpfully whispers,"You're supposed to say 'you're welcome' after I say 'thank you', so that you show you're glad, too."

"Y-yes, you're welcome, Sayori," he swiftly replies, even if his voice is unsure and still very much perplexed. 

"Oooh, how about those? What's their name?" Sayori asks once more, pointing to yet another assortment of flowers, this time those of a darker shade of violet.

"Cirsiums."

"Whoa, you know so much about flowers, Saeran! I'm curious about all these plants, but I don't know much. Can you tell me everything? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"You.. you want to know more about flowers?" 

"Yes, every little thing about them! You're so smart in naming all these flowers, so I think you'd know a lot more. So please?"

Sayori flashes the biggest puppy eyes she could muster at him. She'd taken full note of his timidly clear enthusiasm to the lovely blossoms growing there so you know what? She is fully interested in becoming his friend now. He's such a seemingly feeble and reserved kid, but if anything, that only draws Sayori in more despite the cheery persona she usually exhibits. Even if she has to spend the next hour listening to him list countless and probably boring facts about a bunch of plain old plants, she's willing to do so if that means they'll both be better on terms. Saeran, however, just begins blinking at her puzzledly again, but after a mere few beats pass, he responds. 

"The language of flowers."

"Like, flower language? Do flowers secretly talk to each other and there's a way we can understand them? That's so cool! Hmm, I wonder what a flower would tell another flower. 'Lily, did you see that big spider on the tree? I hear he's making another cobweb.' 'My goodness, Hyacintha, that's so wrong! That was just Beetle climbing up to meet Squirrel. They're friends, y'know.'" 

He quickly shakes his head again. "Flowers sometimes have meanings. Those white tulips over there," he explains while shyly pointing at such flowers, their milky petals practically glowing in the light before continuing,"they mean forgiveness. But a yellow tulip stands for happy thoughts, while royalty for purple. I think...."

"You think? Think what?" 

Saeran widens his eyes as if he'd realized what he said. "N-nothing."

"Whaa, can you at least tell me what you're thinking about? Please? It's about the flowers, right?" 

With yet another shake of his head, tousling his already messy hair even more, he clarifies with,"No, it's just that you remind of the yellow tulips. I think you're always a happy person, because you keep smiling,  so that'd mean you have a lot of happy thoughts.... and I... I.."

"You wanna have a lot of happy thoughts, too?" 

Saeran doesn't bother looking at her, but she knows longing is hidden in those brilliantly bright pair of eyes and she frowns at the thought. Sayori remembers of a flower that would curl its petals into a bud whenever one got too near, and she's pretty sure it's only coming back to her because Saeran seems to be so similar to it. 

But, he is wrong about her always being happy, for there have been multiple times she's cried, whined in frustration, lowered her head due to embarrassment or stomp her feet angrily. But, it's true that she's got plenty of merry thoughts running through her head, and they're subsequently the reason why she can always pick herself up from the dumps; she's got the blessing of beliefs  in fate that yes, things will get better, that she should forever keep a smile on her face even if she's hurting inside out because it'll never be her always. 

It upsets her that Saeran hadn't been born with joyful thoughts like she had. Maybe he had also been born with such, but something terrible had happened and he couldn't keep those happy thoughts anymore. Maybe there's too many rainclouds in his head raining on his parade that the sunny thinkings were outshined. Sayori herself doesn't fully grasp the concept, for she's always been the girl to still somehow be beaming no matter how grave the situation, but her mother has told her that each and every person was different on this world. That meant while she could be the definition of upbeat, others didn't exactly share her enthusiasm. Sometimes, Sayori forgets and she lets herself be insensitive, but she's been trying to quit the nasty habit. And since right then and there she remembers that very valuable piece of wisdom of her mother's, she's certainly going to use it.

"It's okay, Saeran. I don't really understand because I don't have a lot of rainclouds, too, but if I can help get rid of them, I will! I have lots of happy thoughts, so why can't I share some with you? Everybody deserves some."

Saeran just dumbly blinks at her once more. It's like he's never been told the things he's heard and it's all new information he's still desperately trying to comprehend, and Sayori is beyond appalled by this. Who has damaged this faint-hearted, humane boy to the extent that he had never known he deserved happiness? Sayori's heart shatters at the thought, and then there's a raincloud raging on inside of her head that could stand for too many feelings of sorrow, of pity, of compassion. 

"Oh, Saeran, I'm sorry that nobody ever told you that you deserve to have happy thoughts," she exclaims, spreading her arms wide as if she were screaming at the boy 'Hug me!'. "But, I can tell you that, Saeran! You do deserve them, and I'll help you collect so many of them that you'll always be happy, too!" 

On the contrary, Saeran does scoot a few inches away from Sayori, but he breathes out,"There are people who has told me that I do deserve happiness. But... I just..." The boy's head is hung low. Sayori gets the distinct impression that he's too uncomfortable to share the full truth. She's about to try and coax it out of him, but then she remembers that people were different from one another, that he might not like Sayori sticking her nose in his business when he never asked for it. So she lets the subject rest, instead choosing to simply say something else.

"It's okay, Saeran, you don't have to tell me if you don't wanna. You wanna talk about something else, then? Will it give you a happy thought if I ask more about flowers?" 

"Yeah," he softly says, and Sayori takes  it as an answer to both of her questions, so she quickly queries things that Saeran had to ask for her to repeat from how speedily she was talking.

And the rest of their time is spent in bliss, a young girl and slightly older boy bonding over a the mundane topic of flowers and their language. The garden may have been as quiet as a mouse, but there's just something comforting about the silence that doesn't make Sayori itch for more like normal. No, much like that morning when she merely laid in bed, watching over dust particles cascading down to wrinkly bedsheets, she's completely fine - satisfied, even - with only the sweet nothings whispered by the wind in between their rapid fire exchange of answers and questions. Sayori even manages to wrangle Saeran into small talk that had no relation to flowers, one that talked about ambiguous hopes and dreams, and a tiny part of her feels proud of herself for the feat. 

Too soon did their chat have to end, for her father eventually came to pick her up after running late from heavy traffic. He'd suddenly appeared behind them, giving the both for them - Saeran, especially - a good scare. He'd laughed and told Sayori it was time to go and that she'd have to say goodbye to her newfound friend. Sayori turns to face the boy after her father tells her he'd go ahead and wait inside, walking away once he was done. 

"I had so much fun, Saeran! I like talking to you. You have this thing of talking so little, but it just makes chats more comfortable than not. Do you wanna be friends? It's okay if you don't, but can we at least still talk?" Sayori rambles on, eyes lit up with anticipation of a reply.

"Y-yeah, I'd like that. Not just talking more, but being friends, too. If... if... you promise me that you'll always be there for me. I don't want you to be a bad memory. I don't want to remember you with false hopes of you coming back to me again after leaving me when you never will, even if you swore it on your life. Can you promise me that, Sayori? Can you promise me that you'll never abandon me?" His expression matched that of someone in a life-or-death scenario, if Sayori's vision isn't playing tricks know her she may or may not have seen a glimmer of both past hurt and hope behind all that seriousness. 

"Yes, I promise," Sayori proclaims, eyes still twinkling in that buttery light, but nonetheless dead serious. She uttered those words without a second thought, for the first undoubtedly believed that she wanted to be friends for forever with him, and that she'd always wanted to be loyal to the kindred spirits in her life. If Saeran is to be one of them, then so be it that she'll have to stand beside him through everything life would ever hurl at them, for that's what good friends are for - to be one another's saving grace. 

So when Sayori gaily skips out the church with her hand clasped in her father's own, she's made a new friend. 

...

Two years of happy memories pass by. It's all a blur of schoolwork, quality time with her parents and adjusting to a brand new life, but she can't ever forget the highlight of her Saturday: her weekly talks with Saeran. 

At first, the boy was still the awkward little kid she first talked to all those months ago. He's still somewhat awkward, but he's clearly warming up to her, letting slip of bursts of excitement here and there and even the occasional heart-to-heart. Sometimes, it's just Saeran and her admiring the flowers the entire time, the air comfortably still among them. Other times, it's filled with Saeran's hushed words and Sayori's loud chatter, but the two very opposite voices manage to mix in so well together that it feels right despite how wrong it sounds. The two are like yin and yang no matter how cheesy it may sound, both the flip side of one another yet that being the very reason they get along so well; they balance each other out. 

Conversations with Saeran are easy. Random words could literally fall out of Sayori's mouth but they'd still be able to make due with it. They both know of this very well, for Sayori has actually done this a couple of times, and each one was a success. 

Yeah, Sayori has definitely made the right choice in deciding to be Saeran's friend.

...

Sayori doesn't know how it had happened. Nothing of their past meetings had ever foretold this event, and for the first few nights afterwards, she'd thrashed and wailed in bed as she went half-mad with a million possible scenarios dizzying herself. Then, for another few weeks, she'd moped about, completely dropping her usually jubilant attitude. She'd been sick with worry, with fear and dread ever since, but the light at the end of tunnel only grows dimmer and dimmer as time goes by.

Saeran did not show up to church school once, and never again appeared for the rest of forever after the first time.  
...

"We're celebrating tanabata, Sayori." 

A fourteen-year-old Sayori eagerly soaks in the view of all the traditional decorations and talismans laid out on the dinner table. There's a pile of vibrant colorful streamers, hanging kinchaku bags and folded origami cranes neatly arranged at the head, and kimono, cast nets, waste baskets, pieces of washi and two miniature fukinigashi scattered about the wooden surface in a mess of mesmerizing, vivid hues. There's three noticeable narrow strips of brightly tinted paper, and her mother wastes no time in handing her one along with a pen. 

"Write a wish on your tanzaku, will you, Sayori? Afterwards, I'll need you to help make some more fukinigashi. I still haven't cooked dinner and tanabata is tomorrow already. You know how to make them, right?"

"Yeah, I do, mom," Sayori answers, and her mother seems to be pleased with her reply for she's already run off to the kitchen. There's the clanging of pots and pans, so Sayori quickly takes a seat and proceeds to think long and hard about what she should write down.

What does she wish for the most? There's so many things she yearns for, like a new, squishy animal plushie, or maybe for a tendency to be way less clumsy. Sometimes, the longing for better grades or the even more fleeting want of returning to Japan strikes her, but she shakes them out of her head. 'Think, Sayori, think, what's the one thing you want the most?' she asks herself. 

"Blue roses, I think they fit me the most, like how yellow tulips remind me of you."

Sayori almost jumps out of her seat when the snippet suddenly resurfaces from the recess of her mind. Her breaths come out shallow and short, chest heaving up and down too quickly for her own good. Why had the memory, the very last one she ever shared with him before his untimely disappearance, began replaying out of the blue?

"Why, Saeran? What do blue roses mean? I know that red roses mean true love, white means marriage, yellow means friendship and pink meams 'I think you look beautiful', but how about blue ones? I don't think you ever told me before." 

"It's because I just learned it. Jihyun told me himself when I showed a picture of them yesterday." 

"So, what do they mean?" 

For a brief moment, he seems wistful before responding.

"They stand for the unattainable, the impossible."

Sayori bites down on her bottom lip, eyes now glumly gawking at the the scrap of tanzaku. The pen is still in her hand, but her hold is limp now, the remorse coursing through her veins weakening her grip. 

Admittedly, Sayori sometimes spent some of those hours she was supposed to be asleep on hoping instead. It feels strange whenever she does, however, for Saeran had once mentioned that he didn't like being fed false hopes. Sayori doesn't like it either, but in those twilight times at 3 am when the earth wasn't fully awake nor at rest but rather in between, she lets herself be filled with it, lets her mind wander through countless realities where Saeran had never stopped showing up for church school, or by the least come back at one point, and they spent the rest of their lives supporting each other through thick and thin, through puberty and adulthood, through marriage and old age. But, the truth that he still hasn't come back always greets her when she wakes up from her slumber, and melancholy in those mornings makes the happy thoughts go away and the rainclouds to come and play. 

Sayori misses him, to put it plainly. She craves his presence like how a widow would long for their dead loved one, heart aching for something that was most likely, well, gone. 

Too many things remind Sayori of him in the same way yellow tulips would remind him of her. Whenever she goes to the back garden of the church, the thriving vegetation no longer looks as wondrous as before. The place had lost all of its wonder ever since Saeran's not there after every single class, silently beholding the greenery before him all while simultaneously waiting for her arrival. She gets picked up from church school as soon as class ends now, because she can't stand looking at the thing she knew had been dear to Saeran's heart. He never outright said it, but she could tell from the adoring look he always had in his eyes whenever he talked about the blossoms that were planted there. It brings too many memories of the time they spent together there when she knows she can't ever have any more of it. It's easier to avoid it.

Though, despite always staying at least five feet away from that stinking garden and applying that philosophy to everything Saeran-related, Sayori can't seem to forget him. Perhaps it's due to those indulgences of hoping and dreaming way past her bedtime, or maybe it's because the promise they made four years ago is constantly repeated over and over again inside of her head, like a mantra of the sorts. She subconsciously fears that letting the memory of that tiny, timorous boy slip away would mean breaking that oath, one she practically swore her life upon keeping. She can't allow that to ever happen, not when she had the sinking feeling that someone had once broken not only his trust but his very soul as well. He could be dead for all she cared; she's going to keep that promise for eternity no matter what.

Yet, a small, foolish part of Sayori hopes that he's happier wherever he is now. That's how she tries to cheer herself up when the recollections of him invade her mind and causes her vision to blur, by thinking of all those different ways he could be having so much more happy thoughts than he previously had. She still remembers how he'd identified himself as the blue rose on that ethereal afternoon, how pensive his eyes had been. Maybe his blue rose had been those happy times he admitted he wanted more of when they first met. Maybe his blue rose no longer exists now, maybe he relates to another flower now. She feels just a bit more at ease at the thought of him possibly being in a better place wherever it is, so the longing doesn't hurt as much as before. But she knew it would never matter how much heartbreak nor pain she'd have to endure, for if that meant Saeran was happier then so be it. And so, Sayori finally writes down a wish on her tanzaku. 

I wish for Saeran to have more happy thoughts wherever he is, that he no longer is a blue rose.


End file.
